


kokichi doesn't say anything

by ToxicPineapple



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Character Study, Crying, Gen, Introspection, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: back at the very beginning, when they all first were buried, when shuichi first saw the words helped to end danganronpa written as each of their epitaphs, there were always flowers and gifts scattered around the stones. a mess of colour and emotion no matter what time of year it was, through the bright yellows and pinks of summer into the dull greys of winter. it was nice, in a way, to entertain the illusion that those flowers and gifts put up. to pretend as everyone else was doing that they all were loved, that there were people out there in the world missing them.but it's been years, and the flowers and the gifts are all gone now, lost to time, decomposed, picked apart by crows.---six years after danganronpa has ended, the world has changed.but not enough.
Relationships: Harukawa Maki/Yumeno Himiko, Oma Kokichi & Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	kokichi doesn't say anything

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday shuichi sorry LMAO

it's been years since the game ended, years since danganronpa, since monokuma and hope's peak academy and despair and hope and _no that's wrong_ were all put to rest, but shuichi finds himself coming back, even after all these years.

the leaves crunch a little bit under the heels of his boots. coming here in autumn is always pleasing to the senses, with all the oranges and reds of the leaves and the slight nip in the air and the smell of rain, fresh from the night. himiko would be thriving right now, holding onto maki's hand while she does her best to crush each and every leaf under her dark grey slip ons (she never does wear boots anymore, nor does maki; only shuichi can even think about doing so) but she isn't here right now, and neither is maki.

some trips you just have to take alone, is all.

back at the very beginning, when they all first were buried, when shuichi first saw the words _helped to end danganronpa_ written as each of their epitaphs, there were always flowers and gifts scattered around the stones. a mess of colour and emotion no matter what time of year it was, through the bright yellows and pinks of summer into the dull greys of winter. it was nice, in a way, to entertain the illusion that those flowers and gifts put up. to pretend as everyone else was doing that they all were loved, that there were people out there in the world missing them.

but it's been years, and the flowers and the gifts are all gone now, lost to time, decomposed, picked apart by crows. just another sickly reminder that before they became the caricatures shuichi remembers, before _danganronpa,_ they were not loved. they were all empty, tired people. the type who looked forward to the next day because it brought nearer their end. the type who could disappear and never be missed. the type who did.

shuichi is still a caricature, though, still that anxious, weak detective shirogane tsumugi turned him into, and so he misses them, and loves them, even six years after they all died.

normally when shuichi comes here, he goes by each grave, spending more or less time by the stones depending on who they are. he always lingers at kaede's for such a long time, missing the feel of her, forgetting the way her voice sounds.

(there are illegal versions of the game up online for shuichi to find, but he'd rather remember kaede by clair de lune, which he listens to as he falls asleep, rather than the way shirogane tsumugi turned her mind inside out and hanged her for a crime she didn't commit.)

he stays by kaito's for a while too, recalling his encouragement, thinking about the stars. sometimes if shuichi focuses hard enough, he just picture kaito's smile, and that thumbs up he gave, right before he died, trying so hard to encourage them all even as blood dripped down his chin. kaito was only ever what danganronpa wanted him to be, a fake hero, a man written to die, but the tears maki cries when she wakes up screaming his name are real.

shuichi can't stay by rantaro's-- it's too painful, too tragic, thinking of the boy who had to do it again and died trying to end it-- or kirumi's-- her words were scripted but he hears them sometimes when the razorblade in the back of the bathroom cabinet is too, too loud-- or ryoma's-- who threw his life away, sort of, except he didn't, because he fought in the end, and that's just too painful to think about-- or korekiyo's-- who shuichi thought he knew-- or angie's-- she was trying so hard for _something_ and yet in retrospect shuichi doesn't think he'll ever understand her, not now, when the person who danganronpa turned her into is long since dead and gone-- or miu's-- the loud, abrasive girl who made shuichi so _uncomfortable_ yet in the end what she wanted (all she wanted) was to live and that made her the most human of them all.

he stays by tenko's, sometimes, remembering compassionate grass green eyes and hero complexes and wondering if she always hated boys like that, even before. and shuichi always has something to say to gonta, gonta, who was executed for a crime he was manipulated into that he didn't even remember. gonta, whose hand shuichi held during the closing argument, who begged them to forgive kokichi, whose final wish, they... didn't fulfill.

shuichi... doesn't even look at shirogane tsumugi's, doesn't think he ever could, he thought he knew her, he trusted her, he loved her as much as he loved everybody else, and yet, he... she was...

but today shuichi doesn't stop by any of them, not kaede or kaito or tenko or gonta, he just walks his way down the row of graves, the identical epitaphs, the grey, grey, grey display of all the stones, and stops just past gonta's, at the grave of a lying man, a child, a...

friend.

...

"it's my birthday today," shuichi says quietly. he kicks a leaf at the stone and watches it flutter to the ground. the stone is dusty, such that the engravings on the stone, the kanjis in kokichi's name, are slightly obscured. it doesn't matter, though, because shuichi knows what they say. "maki, ah, thought it was weird that i would want to spend the first part of my birthday with you, and not her and himiko."

kokichi doesn't respond. of course he doesn't; he's dead. if he was here, he might have let out a laugh, or else his expression might have gone blank like it sometimes did, and he might have asked shuichi, _well, saihara-chan, why_ did _you come here instead of spend the day with them?_ and shuichi wouldn't know what to say.

...

or, well, or maybe something else. shuichi never got the hang of how to tell what kokichi was thinking. never tried that hard in the first place.

"we don't see each other that much anymore," shuichi pulls the mitten part of his glove off of his fingers, traces his bare fingertips over the smooth top of the stone, lets them fall over the edge. "maki and himiko and me, i mean. i come here a bit more often than i should, aha..."

he doesn't know why he's talking aloud. it isn't as though whatever is left of kokichi will hear him any better this way than if he thinks these things. but shuichi doesn't like the silence. he used to, once, before laughing bears and shot put balls and hope, despair, hope, despair, or at least he thinks he did, but now he can't stand it. there's a reason he can't fall asleep without clair de lune to serenade him.

"they're just... busy, with their garden, and moving on, living their lives, healing, or whatever. and i'm... i'm not, really, i'm not moving on or healing or busy at all, i'm just sitting around like this, stagnating, coming back here once a week, as if it hasn't been six years, as if one of you will stand up out of your grave and tell me how to proceed if i just keep coming back. you won't, i know that, i doubt there's a part of me that doesn't know that, but... here i am. i can't move on."

shuichi grips the stone, feels it digging into his palm through his glove. it's so cold out here, and his fingertips sting against the stone.

"i can't move on, and i'm... everything else has. everyone else has. the world is moving on, forgetting all of us, and that's alright, it _should,_ danganronpa should be a thing of the past without question, it's just..."

and shuichi feels himself growing a bit angry, heat prickling at his eyes.

"nothing has changed, nothing is different. the world has forgotten. the people in team danganronpa, they didn't even serve time, they just... paid a fee and moved forward. the company is still up and running, just doing... non-violent reality tv." shuichi barks out a bitter laugh. "people were angry for a while-- _i_ was angry, i'm still angry-- but they gave up, they all gave up, even himiko and maki have... given up, and now we're just. expected to act normal? we're supposed to move on? we're supposed to-- to heal? as if what's been broken has actual been fixed?"

shuichi is crying, hot angry tears streaking down his face, and they burn in the cold, but he doesn't care, he doesn't, he doesn't.

"my therapist said that i, i should just let it go, that holding onto this much hatred is unhealthy, but how can i let it go? the world was supposed to have changed, and it _has,_ i guess, if you mean stopping short of murder, but they're still exploiting teens, they're still broadcasting children for the amusement of the world, people are still," shuichi gasps, "forgotten, and unloved, and unseen, and unheard. like we all are, were. people are still looking for ways to die, to become somebody else, heedless of the fact that-- that it's wrong, that they should find love in their own skin, not--"

slowly, shuichi sinks down to his knees, st the front of kokichi's grave, leaning against it like it could hold him, like it could reassure him.

"things were supposed to be different. they were supposed to be better. but people just, _do it,_ over and over and over again. and maki and himiko aren't even angry about it anymore. i don't understand."

shuichi looks up at the sky, tilting his head against the gravestone. he wishes he remembered kokichi's voice.

"you would be angry too, right? i'm not... projecting, what i wish i had?"

... kokichi doesn't respond.

"you would know how to deal with it, though, what to do. it isn't like there's any room for martyrs in this world. if i died, nobody would care. that was supposed to _change."_ shuichi curls a hand into a fist and punches his knee, scowling. "the world was supposed to be different. we were all supposed to be different."

silence, save for the whistle of the wind, the soft crinkling noises as the leaves are disturbed. the sky is grey. some birthday this is.

"i wish you were here," shuichi says, quietly. "i wish i tried harder to understand you. i wish i'd saved you. i wish i'd saved all of them. then the world would be the same but at least i wouldn't be alone."

he breathes a sigh, and closes his eyes for a moment. collects himself. uses his gloves to wipe away his tears.

it's... hard. it's just hard. that's all.

he curls himself into a tighter ball against the stone, staring emptily at a tree nearby. shuichi is so tired.

"i'll keep trying," shuichi says, quietly. "keep fighting. you would do that. you would give anything, so, i can too." that much, shuichi _knows,_ about the person kokichi was. he would've given anything. he already did give everything. "change isn't immediate or linear or obvious or easy. i know that."

shuichi curls up further, resting his forehead against his knees.

"i'm going to try, kokichi, i'll... i'm going to try." he breathes. "i just need a moment here, just a moment."

just a moment where he doesn't have to.

...

kokichi doesn't say anything, because of course he doesn't. he couldn't. he's dead. he's been dead for years. but while shuichi sits there, the wind shifts, and the leaves around him gather, tucking in around his person, like a blanket, of sorts, keeping him safe for this moment. as long as he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't gonna write anything at all in my defense so yeah just take this
> 
> you can tell im an activist who is rlly mad at the state of the world and at complacency ahahaha


End file.
